Talking Shop
by Afalstein
Summary: An old friend from Miami drops in to look up Reese, and he's got a job offer.


**Talking Shop**

The man at the coffeetable didn't exactly stand out, and that was all the more odd because, by all conventional rules, he SHOULD have stood out. He was dressed brightly, his tan was incredibly out of place in sunless New York, and his upright posture was at odds with the lounging tourists surrounding him. Yet somehow, he managed to look completely unremarkable.

"Hello, Mike."

The man pulling up a chair across from him looked very different, yet also very similar. His suit was drab and his skin pale, but like the other man, he was tall, lean, and well built. He sat, too in the same erect, poised posture, and like the other, his eyes drifted over the crowd without seeming to.

And, like the first, he looked completely unremarkable.

Michael studied the man for a second. "So." He said, picking up his glass. "The rumors are true. You're alive."

"That's what they tell me." Reese nodded. "Have to say, Mike, I'm a little hurt. You're in New York four days, you don't write, you don't call, you don't put the squeeze on any snitches… it's like you're not even trying to find me."

Michael smiled, a long, easy smile. "I figured it'd be quicker to let you come to me. You always were pretty good at covering your tracks."

"Perhaps that's just because I always lacked your… peculiar style," answered Reese, eyeing the other's suit with faint distaste.

Catching the look, Michael sent the other an admonishing look. "Hey, it's my fault New Yorkers don't have style? This blends right in in Miami. I'm surprised you can stand to live here, John, the winters must get pretty cold."

A small grin quirked the edges of John's mouth. "This from the guy who spent several years in Ireland."

"Well if you remember, in Ireland I never really suffered much from cold nights."

John just shook his head, a light smile still on his lips. For a moment the two did not say much, simply sitting at the table, studying the crowd. A waitress came up to John, but he waved her away.

"So," said Michael, sipping thoughtfully from his cup. "What's new with you?"

"Oh… you know. Staying busy with this and that." John shrugged. "What's new with you?"

Michael seemed to give this some thought. "Well, I got burned by a secret conspiracy within the CIA, exposed the conspiracy, got back into the agency, hunted down the head of the conspiracy, hunted down my brother's killer, and got a bomb dropped on me by the Agency."

"I hate it when that happens." John nodded.

Michael glanced at him thoughtfully but gave no other sign of surprise. "Tell me about it."

"Thought there was something fishy about the way you disappeared." John continued. "Guess I figured you were either in deep cover or you'd been rubbed out."

Shrugging, Michael spread his hands wide. "Gotta say, John, that's about what I thought when I came back into the Agency and heard about you. Well, first I thought you might've gotten hit by the same conspiracy, but there was nothing in their files about you. Mark said you'd gone rogue."

"Mark said that, huh?"

Michael smiled and looked away. "C'mon, John, we always knew better than to listen to Mark. Guy would shoot his own mother if the Agency asked him to." Taking a sip from his cup, he asked: "How's Stanton?"

"Dead, last I heard. The bomb got her. How's Fiona?"

"Alive. The bomb didn't get her."

Reese cocked his head in approval. "Good to hear that."

Playing with the edge of his cup, Michael sent his friend an inquisitive glance. "So. You said you've been keeping busy?"

"Found a job." Reese sent back a don't-ask smile at the other agent. "It pays the bills. You?"

"Found a lot of jobs," answered Michael. "Little bit of this, little bit of that… Guess work's just easier to find in Miami."

"Not steady work, apparently." Reese gave a light snort.

Michael shrugged. "Well, there's this one job you might be interested in."

Something in his friend's tone caught John's attention. His eyes flickered over to him questioningly.

Leaning over the table, Michael spoke quietly. "John, I always suspected someone in the Agency turned on you. Part of the reason I came to New York was to get the answer to that."

"And the other reason?"

"Well, I thought that if, like me, you'd gotten a bomb dropped on you, you might have some questions as to why."

"One or two." John nodded.

"Card ordered the bomb dropped on me," continued Michael. "I'm getting together a crew to find out why."

John arched his eyebrows in response. "Sounds like a tall order."

"Not with the right team." Michael countered. "I've got some old friends lined up, and they're all solid. But John." Michael paused deliberately. "I could really use your help on this. Card has a lot of connections, chances are good he'd have heard something about your incident."

John studied him for a long moment. Finally, he smiled and looked away. "Well, Mike." He said. "You're quite the salesman, as always."

"Is that a yes?"

Still smiling, John shook his head. "Sorry, Mike, but… like I told you. I've got a job. And it's… not one I can really walk away from."

"If you're in trouble, we can…"

"Not…" John raised his hand in protest. "…not like that. More like a job I don't WANT to walk away from."

"Not even to find out the truth behind that bomb they dropped on you?" Michael asked.

Again John shook his head. "Sorry, Mike." He stood to his feet. "Still, good luck with that job of yours." He moved away. "You're going to need it."

* * *

**a/n**:You know what someone should write? A Burn Notice/POI/Covert Affairs crossover Not me. I'm flooding the market with these things too much already.

Reviews appreciated!


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